New Year.

I traded "Resolutions" for "Inner-Voice Commands," and we're trying that on in 2025.

No one has ever called me an optimist. I’m pretty sure no one has ever added “sunny” to a list of attributes when asked to describe me. In fact, I tried being outwardly optimistic for approximately six months in 2009, and people called to check in on me. “I saw your tweet. Are you Okay?” That’s how foreign optimism is to my system. “Dark” (or some variation) is the description that’s been thrown my way for as long as I can remember. And I’m absolutely fine with that. I like that about myself. In a Carrie Bradshaw voice: “But I couldn’t help but wonder. What came first, the melancholy or the moniker?” We’ll never know.

That said.

Every January 1, I, the Queen of Darkness, emerge with a new sense of optimism—somewhere, somehow, my cup fills up. Even I set off to tackle a new year with a suitcase stuffed with good intentions. I think most of us do. It’s a chance to start over and forgive our past selves for not accomplishing ALL the things we set out to do the year before. A reset that allows us to hope that this new year will be better than the last. If the Catholics can absolve their sins with a Hail Mary and sign of the cross, why can’t we, the rest of us, do it with the dawn of a new year?

Not to upset the Catholics (but I grew up Catholic, so, yes, always do what you can to upset the Catholics), this year, I decided to make a witchy little ritual for myself on New Year’s Eve so I could supercharge THE SHIT out of my absolution and intentions (once I figured out what they were).

You betcha.

First, I went to “weed the garden.” ::wink:: (It’s how I tap into the “source,” AKA God, the Universe, Allah, Your Higher Self, Bob Ross, whatever you get it, you do you.) Once I was “tuned in,” I decided to let them take the wheel and guide me toward what I should do.

The plan had always been to take a hot bath with bubbles. But now I was compelled to grab a few kitchen items, too. A dash of sea salt. A bay leaf with two intention words written on it. A sprinkle of dried thyme. And, of course, a cinnamon stick. I tossed them into the tub and sloshed an infinity symbol into my bubbly bitch’s brew to mix it up. I lit a white candle. I grabbed my rose and clear quartz (for love and clarity, respectively, of course) and placed them near my head in the tub. I wanted mood lighting, so I brought in my light cube from the hallway and clicked the red light on the control. Immediately, I thought, “This feels like Hell; wrong vibes.” I turned it blue. Better. Yellow, “That’s the one!” Look who's sunny now.

I submerge my body into the water and imagine soaking up all that protection, love, and positivity I imbued it with, the sweetness and abundance seeping in from the cinnamon stick. I did a “New Year’s Eve Meditation” I found on Spotify. It was mid. The guide’s voice was annoying, but it was soon drowned out by a much louder and persistent voice. A voice in my head said, “Your mission (should I choose to accept it) is to LISTEN TO YOUR FU-CKING MUSE MORE! She has been yelling at you, and this year, you need to do something about it!!” “Do it, shut the fuck up, and just do it. Finish the play, Ok? Ok?”

“Ok,” I say to myself with a nod.

Of course, the voice is aggro and absolutely fed up with my shit. I don’t blame her. I forgive her tone. I need a kick in the ass.

She continues, “Also, fuck fear. We’re giving up fear this year,” My butthole clenches. I immediately think this voice is going to tell me I need to add camping in the woods to some intention list. Which is an absolute “No from me, dawg.” But the idea shifted to be more about taking control of my fears and perhaps stoking the flames of fear a little less, balancing the intake with more uplifting stories and activities.

“Fine. Deal.” I think and roll my eyes.

“Be more intentional with your relationships,” I heard her say calmly. I am more than happy to support THAT intention. As the years go by, I understand the house sometimes cleans itself, and I’m making peace with what needs to go and what deserves to stay and be looked after. I want to foster stronger connections with the people I know and love and seek new connections that make me feel alive, safe, and inspired. My “Year of Yes” opened me up to so many new opportunities and people; maybe we will revisit that in 2025.

“Let’s Do it.” I hear myself think with a smile seen by no one.

By now, my skin is pruned. I’ve soaked in all I can. The rest—the muck, the doubt, the hopelessness, the bonds and binds that tie me down—swirl away with a *glug glug glug*

I am clean.

I am baptized.

I am new.

Simply because I’ve decided to be (and a little ritual goes a long way mentally if you allow it to. So why not?).

I threw on some red underwear, saged, dusted, ate my 12 grapes, swept out the door, and took out the trash. I covered as many bases as possible to seal in the good fortune of hope I take into 2025.

I know it promises to be rocky in many ways, politically, globally, socially, etc. That’s just the baseline now. Unfortunately.

But for today. For day one. I woke up feeling fresh. Rejuvenated. Ready. I have my marching orders sorted. And I’m optimistic.

I hope you are, too.

As always,

Live, Laugh, Witch Bath.

XO, Me 💋